


and you shall find me a grave man

by renardroi



Series: and you shall find me a grave man (W359 Big Bang W2017) [1]
Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Canon-Typical Villainy, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Daniel Jacobi is A Bad Person, Gen, Gun Violence, Like VERY VERY Mild and Not Kepcobi (sorry lads), M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 22:43:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13153560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renardroi/pseuds/renardroi
Summary: They left Jacobi mostly unscathed besides the one broken wrist, a split lip, a minor concussion, and several lacerations like a rung ladder they carved up his right arm - until their bosses walked in and called it quits on small game. They recognize Kepler; they call him Major and order their goons to haul Jacobi out of the metal chair because well now ballistics experts are a dime a dozen, but the Major here must have all the good intel, so let's dump Jacobi on the ground like he's yesterday's news. And while we're at it let's cuff him to a stray pipe that has to be several degrees past burning like he's a mutt, leashed to a pole outside the store while his owners buy ice cream and lotto tickets.He's not mad about it.





	1. --- / -. / .

**Author's Note:**

> here's my submission for the wolf 359 big bang. its been a real pleasure - listening to wolf 359 and writing and drawing things for it. it's probably the first time ive really felt truly comfortable within a fandom and a lot of that comes from how nice the people in it are. i'm grateful for the time and effort that the writers and voice actors and all of the crew have put into making this wonderful and surprisingly heart-wrenching story. 
> 
> my artist for this event is [skeletonkravitz on tumblr](http://skeletonkravitz.tumblr.com/). he's a wonderful artist, please check him out and all of the stuff he's made! 
> 
> additional thanks as well to jude ([intearsaboutrobots](http://intearsaboutrobots.tumblr.com/)) who is my partner in crime lately. i probably couldnt have ended up writing somewhere in the ballpark of 10.3k without their help.
> 
> as a side note, im very very not used to writing things in more than 1 sitting and the details of this plot were revised...uh...a lot. but hopefully it makes sense - let me know what you think? :0

 

  
[art by skeletonkravitz](http://skeletonkravitz.tumblr.com/post/168986438834/my-work-for-the-wolf359bigbang2017-fic-is-and)

Something stinks about the mission from the beginning. It’s fairly simple; sneak into a company’s semi-remote facility, steal some shit, cover the theft with a bomb, pay a terrorist group to claim responsibility - well, that part wasn’t their responsibility, exactly, but everything else was. Despite being fairly straightforward and very easily a one person job, Cutter insists on both Kepler and Jacobi going into the field. It seems an unnecessary risk. They aren’t stealing from a munitions company, there’s only one room that needs to be blown up - not a controlled demolition of the whole building, so Jacobi could easily just design something and hand it over to any agent to detonate on their own. And it’d be easier to sneak into such a small facility alone.

But Cutter insists.

Kepler too is acting strange, uncharacteristically quiet, and perhaps that should have been enough to warn Jacobi that the mission was going to go sideways almost immediately, but it’s still a surprise when they somehow get separated and then captured. One moment Jacobi is trying to figure out which hallway his superior has disappeared down, and the next he’s waking up to guards interrogating the both of them.

They left Jacobi mostly unscathed besides the one broken wrist, a split lip, a minor concussion, and several lacerations like a rung ladder they carved up his right arm - until their bosses walked in and called it quits on small game. They recognize Kepler; they call him Major and order their goons to haul Jacobi out of the metal chair because well now ballistics experts are a dime a dozen, but the Major here must have all the good intel, so let's dump Jacobi on the ground like he's yesterday's news. And while we're at it let's cuff him to a stray pipe that has to be several degrees past burning like he's a mutt, leashed to a pole outside the store while his owners buy ice cream and lotto tickets.  
  
He's not mad about it.  
  
Kepler at least seems surprised when they single him out - not that he looks it. A twitch of his fingers, his mouth flipping from a blank expression to smugness that doesn't reach his eyes, things that only Jacobi sees because he's looking, and because he's been trying to catch that fucking man off guard for goddamn years. He cherishes the times when he gets a chance to do something so incredibly, stupidly impressive that he can get Kepler to even hint at real human emotion instead of the permanent tilted grin he's got on.  
  
They punch Kepler's smug face twice before their bosses intervene again. They're twins, light hair and green eyes, business attire of course, nearly identical except that one's hair is a little longer. They step in and suggest something a little more refined. Less messy. Damn, Jacobi had gotten the table nice and red and the knife-enthused goon all warmed up and they weren't even going to bother with Kepler? It hurts. Cuts deep.  
  
Kepler shoots him a look that lets him know he's been complaining out loud and to please shut the fuck up Mr. Jacobi, so he does. He gets a few glares but the twins let Kepler know that they'll be back in just a minute with something much more civilized and all that.  
  
Everyone steps out, save one guard and Jacobi starts counting in his head.

One, two, three, four, they leave the room and start walking east, footsteps echoing loud enough to pinpoint the direction for just a moment before they fade. Six, the guard has two guns, one on his belt and another hidden in his jacket. Seven, eight, nine, he's not used to carrying, that much is clear from the way that he shifts and adjusts his clothing like someone wearing a pencil skirt for the first time. Twelve, thirteen, there's two cameras in this room, opposite corners, one of them's already turned off.

Fifteen, Kepler is bleeding from a small cut just below his eye. Probably from being punched. He's mostly uninjured though, save a few bruises. Eighteen, nineteen, the guard is probably right-handed, since he has the gun in his jacket tucked into the left breast pocket. Twenty one, Kepler's watching Jacobi, watching him assess the room and everything against them. He has a curious expression on his face, one Jacobi doesn't recognize.

Twenty-two, twenty-three, he almost loses count as he tries to place the look that Kepler's giving him, wondering if he's supposed to be receiving some kind of telepathic communication and Kepler's going to be pissed later that he was too stupid to notice. Again.

Twenty-five, there's a single table in the room, metal, bolted to the ground, already spotted red and brown with Jacobi's blood. Kepler is sitting in the similarly bolted chair that goes with it, arms bound behind him and to the back of the chair itself. The guard is watching him intently, seemingly expecting Kepler to magically override the electronic lock on whatever the fuck cutting edge dolled up techno-cuffs they've got the two of them in. They were bulky hinged handcuffs, and apparently electroshock-capable, which Jacobi had discovered when he’d received a whole microcoulomb of charge directly into his broken wrist. Hurt like hell.

Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five - come on, Jacobi, come up with a plan. Pipes everywhere - maybe he's attached to some kind of hot water pipe? That'd explain the sweat dripping surreptitiously down his back, between his shoulder blades, and the singe he gets if he relaxes even a little. The question is whether or not it’s hot enough to be useful, to damage the cuffs.

Footsteps. The door opens just as Jacobi gets to forty-six, and the twins have returned, tailed by a smart looking woman with a vial of something. It's unlabeled - probably on purpose, Jacobi notes, not that he could have identified the off brand name of whatever opioid concoction they've come up with that they think will smudge out Goddard training and Kepler's years of experience in the field. Like some kind of pain med is going to make Kepler blush and spill his proverbial guts.

The twins have great big cheshire grins on their stupid faces as the person they've brought along starts prepping a needle. She takes a moment to assess Kepler.

"Seventy...five?" She guesses.

Kepler is smiling as well, but it’s less cheshire and more fox-like. "You should know better than to ask someone their weight. It's just not polite."

She gives him a sour look and meticulously pulls a measured amount of Chemical X, tapping the needle very gently, and then hands it to one of the twins who instantly looks utterly delighted. They purr and ooh and ahh and thank the good doctor, who seems to recognize a dismissal when she sees it, and exits quietly, stiffly - headed for the lab or chemical storage or something that is approximately twenty seconds away, to the east of their current location. Twenty seconds is not very far. Twenty seconds could be eight - or seven if he's feeling spry.

Seven seconds away from a potential arsenal? He's definitely feeling spry.

Of course, first he needs to wait for his opening. He has plenty of miscellaneous crap stashed on his person, including strips of metal that he could easily shove into the teeth of the cuffs, but he couldn’t retrieve anything with the guard watching. Sleight of hand was perhaps the opposite of his specialty, all things considered, and he wasn’t skilled enough to try and pull anything under threat of death. Jacobi shifts, feigning like he’s trying to get comfortable on the cold concrete floor while he tests the flexibility of the cuffs. They seem fairly solid. Maybe the heat will warp whatever polymer is used to encase all the electric bits, but other than that all Jacobi can do is watch the twins try to ruffle Kepler’s feathers. One of them is straddling him, sitting in his lap, waving the needle around and monologuing like it’s the end of the world.

The needle goes into his jugular, which may just be because the twins think it's more dramatic, but it's probably for the best. He doesn't think either of the twins could be relied upon to find a vein in a limb or elsewhere, let alone successfully administer drugs through it. Kepler very helpfully sits still for the proceedings, neither flinching nor batting an eye, and if the twins were smarter they might be bothered by it. Instead they seem to count it as some kind of victory, like they’ve coaxed a predator into eating kibble out of their hands.

However, he and Jacobi have long since figured out that being cooperative is usually the better choice in situations like these. Better to get a little high off some medical grade opiates applied intravenously than to struggle and end up with a painful shot of opiates directly into whatever muscle is closest.

Content, the twins see themselves out, promising to return in a half hour with the hopes that the drug will have kicked in by them, and blowing Kepler and the guard kisses as they go.

Peace. For the moment.

Kepler uses the opportunity to catch Jacobi's eye, nodding almost imperceptibly at him. Incoming transmission. Will you accept? Jacobi nods back, as subtly as he can, trying to ignore the heat starting to come off of his techno-cuffs so that he can focus on Kepler's face. There's still no way to tell if the cuffs are going to take the heat in stride or not - his wrists certainly aren't. He's sweating bullets and burning his skin while he watches Kepler blink at him like he's just made a bet that he can seduce a pretty girl from across the bar, all without saying a word.

Of course, he is saying a word.

-.. / .- / -. / .. / . / .-..

Jacobi sighs loudly, rolling his eyes to high heaven and back. Across the room, the guard reflexively puts a hand to the gun on his belt, and it’s enough to shut Jacobi up. He silently replies.

\--- / -.-

Kepler grins at his response, apparently amused. The drugs must already be working. After a second, he blinks back.

-... / --- / .-. / . / -..

And then he relaxes in his chair, leaning back and kicking his legs out like a bored college intern, but still he bats his eyes at Jacobi with those long eyelashes. Jacobi grits his teeth but tries very hard not to sigh again. Best not aggravate their armed guard. Just reply, and quietly.

..-. / ..- / -.-

Kepler raises an eyebrow at him as he pauses for emphasis.

..-

His superior laughs to himself, which only serves to piss Jacobi off more. Clearly this is just an exercise in fucking with him. At least the guard seems to write off Kepler's chuckling as a side effect of the drug. Jacobi might be inclined to do the same if Kepler didn't have a history of pulling dumb shit at the worst times. Jacobi, take apart this bomb that I’ve locked us in with. Jacobi, would you be a doll and let me play Russian roulette with your head so I can prove a point to some stuffy know-it-all. Jacobi, could you put together a quick little bomb from the contraption we’re supposed to be sabotaging. Why? Well, doesn't it just sound fun? A good distraction? If you can get me out of this building without a scratch, Jacobi, with an army of guards after us and no help from me, then I won’t shoot you dead where you stand.

It's just a game, something to pass the time.

Kepler pushes him well past what should be his breaking point, but every time Jacobi puts up with it and does as he’s told. He tries not to dwell on it too much, because he knows he’s on the fence about whether he should embrace a deep respect for the man pushing him to be better or if he should be furious that Kepler plays games with his life. Neither are good places to be.

The silence stretches out between the two of them, and Jacobi shoves down paranoid thoughts about Kepler reading his damn mind.

After a few minutes, he tries to catch Kepler’s eye again. He wants to ask for his plan, because if Kepler has a plan, then he can stop burning the everloving crap out of his arm and get on with his life. But he can't get his attention, and whether or not that's purposeful...he doesn't know. The major is turned away, eyes closed and breathing slowly. Almost like he’s falling asleep.

Oh well, maybe Jacobi can spend a few minutes just taking a breather. Sure, it wouldn't be an oxywhatever-assisted breather, unlike Kepler's, but he could benefit from taking some time to get rid of the adrenaline in his blood.

So he sits and closes his eyes. Doesn't relax - can't relax when he doesn't have even half of a plan (break cuffs, something something guard, get stuff, something something explosions, and haul Kepler's high as a kite body back to HQ?), but he takes a few deep breaths, measuring them against Kepler's to make sure the man's not falling asleep and to make sure that _he's_ not falling asleep, and waits.

Deep breath. RDX, DOS, DOA, PIB, oil. Deep breath. Sulfur, charcoal, potassium nitrate. Deep breath. Toluene, sulfuric, nitric, MNT, sulfuric, nitric, DNT, nitric, ol -

Kepler coughs and it’s like someone has pulled a rug out from underneath Jacobi -  or a forceful slap in the face. He startles, jerking in surprise and then wincing as pain lances up his arm. He opens his eyes, the stupid part of him expecting to look up and see that Kepler’s escaped his cuffs while he’s been practically taking a nap, or at the very least expecting to see Kepler looking down at him with that smug derision, even while still cuffed to a chair.

What he doesn't expect is Kepler not looking at him.

He's in the same position, leaned back, legs out like the cocky shit he is, but not looking at Jacobi. Avoiding his eyes? Difficult to tell. Maybe he's missed something. Maybe something changed and Kepler's alerting him to it. Jacobi casts about as quickly as he can without bringing attention to himself. Metal table (bolted), metal chair (bolted), one guard (alert), two guns (holstered), cuffs (still functional), pipes (still fucking hot).

Had the cough been unintentional?

No. That seemed wrong. Everything that Kepler did was intentional, purposeful. Even if it's purpose was to piss someone off. Except if Kepler had only done it to bother Jacobi, that would mean that he should be looking quite pleased with himself right about now, smiling and preening and all that. But instead he has a careful, schooled expression on his face. Blank. Staring conveniently at a wall.

Jacobi frowns at him, hoping Kepler can see his disapproval out of the corner of his eye, but he can’t quite bring himself to relax again. The cough leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Whatever spidey senses he’s developed since he started working for Goddard are telling him that something is wrong. Not that his instincts are infallible - no, not by a long shot. Still though - dammit, he should have listened more. Jacobi tries to replay the conversation between Kepler and the twins, to figure out perhaps what they had given him, but the details escape him.

What snippets he can remember made it seem like a typical interrogation. Albeit a bit more...sleezy than usual.

Despite the cough, Kepler’s breathing is still slow, quiet. Jacobi’s scope of vision narrows dangerously as he concentrates on paying as close attention as he can to Kepler, even though he isn’t sure what he’s waiting to see or hear. The minutes start to tick by, and for a moment Jacobi wonders if he’s being paranoid. It was just a cough - it didn’t mean anything. Just because he suspected Kepler had an inhuman level of control over himself didn’t mean he actually did.

The rest of the room comes back into focus slowly, and Jacobi makes the executive decision to ignore the threat of an armed guard and try to get something to get out of these cuffs. He’s sure there’s a shim sewn into his jacket if he can get to it.

He curls his arm awkwardly around the hot pipe, ignoring the quiet hissing sound of his skin starting to burn and the pain in his wrist as he struggles to get a fistful of fabric in his hands. It takes some doing, and by the end of it Jacobi is sweating significantly more, but he manages to get a hold of the hem of his jacket. He starts to relax, pulling his smarting arm away from the pipe, and happens to glance up - only to find the guard eyeballing him suspiciously.  
  
“It’s hot.” Jacobi tells him loudly as he drops the handful of fabric, hoping it’ll be taken as an excuse for his struggling. The guard doesn’t turn away but at least he isn’t pointing a gun, so that’s something. Still. He needs this guard distracted if he wants to get out of his cuffs any time soon.  
  
Kepler helpfully coughs. This time it’s worse, sickly and wet. Both Jacobi and the guard immediately turn to look at the major, and it’s enough of a distraction that Jacobi can go back to wrestling with his clothing. He grabs the hem of his jacket again and tries to tear it open, but he can’t get a good grip on it, especially with his wrist the way that it is. Before he can finish Kepler interrupts again.

He coughs a few more times, and - strangely - looks like he’s trying to suppress them. They sound awful, painful even just to hear and it almost gets Jacobi to drop what he’s doing. The guard too seems disturbed, because he starts speaking into the comms unit hooked over his ear, questioning someone about whether or not their captive was supposed to sound like he was about to start coughing up blood - like an awful horror movie scene.

Not good, not good. As much as Jacobi would like to have someone of the medical profession check to make sure that Kepler wasn’t about to OD on opiates, having more people in here was exactly what he didn’t want. People were probably less than a minute or two away and that wasn’t a good window of time for him to get out of the cuffs, take out the guard, get Kepler uncuffed, figure out what was wrong with him, and also get them both out in time to not be spotted. He’d have to stay sitting, working on his cuffs until there was a better opportunity.

“Stop! Stop moving!” The guard suddenly turns on him, whipping out his gun with an unprecedented ferocity. Jacobi freezes up, sweating in his seat. “We don’t need both of you.”

It’s a threat that doesn’t need much explanation with a handgun in between them. The shock of being rounded on so suddenly fades enough after a moment, and Jacobi manages to grind out a reply to the guard, trying to defend himself. “This pipe. Is hot. It has to be somewhere nea -”

“Shut up and sit still. I mean it.”

Jacobi looks abruptly to Kepler, instinctively turning to him for instructions or reassurance or something other than the blank look he has on his face, or the way that he looks away as soon as Jacobi meets his gaze. Guilt. A rare gem of an emotion on Kepler, but definitely not one that Jacobi has ever tried to evoke - it’s more than worrying. But he doesn’t know what the guilt is for - for coughing, or causing the coughing, or something else. Either way it puts Jacobi immediately on edge.

The same lady who administered the dosage of whatever miracle drug the twins think they have returns, an unlabeled binder tucked up under her arm - clearly not having expected to be called back so soon. As she steps in, she checks the clunky watch on her wrist and glances between Jacobi and the guard. Strangely she seems nervous to be around both of them, something he hadn't picked up on when the twins had been here. They were showboaters, doing as much as they could to keep the attention on themselves.

The scientist, maybe some kind chemist or pharmacist, carefully dropped her binder on the table, as far away from Kepler as she could, and turned to the guard with a glare.

"He's coughing -"

"I'm not a nurse -"

"Look, whatever you gave him is -"

"What I gave him was pain medication - really good pain medication, but -"

Kepler chokes and coughs again and the guard points at him as though it proves a point. The scientist scowls and goes over to Kepler, glaring down at him like he's a kid playing sick to get out of school. She fusses over him carefully, checking his neck where the needle had gone in, touching his forehead, but slowly and nervously. Kepler gives Jacobi a dry look over her shoulder, very clearly in a _get a load of this guy_ kind of way, but with a touch of delirium to it.

"I'm not a nurse - I gave him less than is recommended for his weight - maybe it's an allergic reaction but that doesn't sound like allergies. Maybe he took something else - listen, I did what they asked me to do and nothing more. I can't do anything for him - you should take him to a hospital if he's ill -"

While Jacobi has Kepler's gaze, and the scientist and guard are arguing, he chances blinking out another message to his superior.

.-- / .... / .- / - / -.. / .. / -.. / -.-- / ---

Kepler turns away before he's finished, coughing lightly. Jackass. Idiot. Stupid fucking son of a bitch. At the very least, while people are looking over Kepler they're subsequently not looking at Jacobi, so he can go back to ripping up his jacket. Another painful first degree burn on his arm in exchange for tearing open the hem of his jacket seems worth it. He has a small collection of tiny pieces of scrap metal in his jacket - mostly in places where it'd go unnoticed; near zippers and buttons. It's useful for situations like this where he needs to get out of a pair of cuffs, but it can also be handy for other things; completing a circuit, for one.

Despite the fact that these handcuffs were slightly more decked out than most, all handcuffs had the same fundamental weakness. Shoving a slim piece of metal between the locking teeth made it incredibly easy to slip out without having to pick any locks. Jacobi tests the handcuffs carefully, making sure he can slip at least his uninjured hand out while he assesses the guard's position. His back is turned, and the pistol he'd been waving around earlier is back in its spot in his belt holster. Good.

Kepler, despite being fairly out of it, is observant enough to spot Jacobi getting ready to make his move and covers the sound of his approach with a few more wet coughs.

As quick as Jacobi can manage with his injured arm tucked against his side, he steps up behind the guard and rips the gun from the already unlatched holster. It takes the guard about as long to turn around as it does for Jacobi to cock the gun, so that by the time they're face to face, Jacobi can fire a round into the man's chest - and then just to be sure, he fires another into his head.

To her credit, the scientist doesn't so much as gasp in response to the gunshots. She stands stock still, refusing to turn her gaze away from Kepler even as the guard slumps to the ground. Sure, it’s probably out of some kind of self-preservation instinct, but at the very least it’s better than most people’s instincts.

It probably won’t save her.


	2. - / .-- / ---

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He nods to himself, considering the information, even as he jerks his chin towards his boss. “What’s wrong with him? And don’t give me any of that bullshit about not knowing.” 
> 
> “I swear I don -” 
> 
> “Brahe. I have a lot of bullets and not a lot of time.” Jacobi sighs. “I don’t want to shoot you -”

“Name.” Jacobi barks the command out as he turns the gun on her in one, almost smooth motion. In the periphery he hears Kepler mumble something about his stance - it might have been cutting if the man wasn’t stopping to cough every few words, and if Jacobi was listening. 

“Brahe,” she gets out after a moment of struggle, one that Jacobi allows to pass only because he needs to save his bullets.

“How much do they pay you here?” Jacobi asks her, almost conversational, as he crouches low to grab the second pistol off the downed guard. He’s careful to keep his eyes on the woman, even if it means he has to do a nearly blind pat down on a dead man while his broken wrist screams at him.

“Not enough.” Brahe makes a sound halfway between a whimper and a sob. She still hasn’t moved, eyes locked on Kepler. Jacobi feels no pang of sympathy or empathy, no sudden guilt. Instead he stands and tucks the second gun into his waistband.

“They have something, then.” He nods to himself, considering the information, even as he jerks his chin towards his boss. “What’s wrong with him? And don’t give me any of that bullshit about not knowing.”

“I swear I don -”

“Brahe. I have a lot of bullets and not a lot of time.” Jacobi sighs. “I don’t want to shoot you -”

“Don’t lie, it’s unbecoming of you,” Kepler interrupts, breathing ragged.

“Oh - fucking bite me.” He spits back, blood boiling. Of course Kepler only acknowledges him to be a pain in the ass. Asshole. “Listen, Brahe, I don’t give a shit about what  _ happened  _ to him - I  _ know  _ you don’t know - I want to know what’s  _ wrong with him _ .”

“I - I…” She finally turns to look at Jacobi, her eyes carefully avoiding the gun like she knows looking at it will make her panic, and her hands raised defensively. “Okay. I don’t have any equipment with me so it’s not exact but his heart rate is near 150, shallow breathing, and of course the coughing. I’m guessing some kind of fluid in the lungs like an impossibly fast case of pneumonia. I can’t be sure, but I think he’s knocked a degree or two off his core temperature.

“Overdoses on opiates can lead to breathing problems but not like this and I swear I didn’t give him that much. When I estimated his weight, I made sure to give for a dosage lower than that. It’s possible that he’s taken something else - it could be reacting to the oxycontin but I don’t know what could have this reaction and it seems too quick to be possible. I’m - I - I’m not a pharmacist or a nurse. I’ve only picked up enough to make sure that I don’t kill people with the oxycontin, okay?” There’s an uncomfortable stretch of silence after she finishes her rambling. Jacobi risks a glance at Kepler.

He looks bad up close. His face flushed but not naturally, and his eyebrows drawn together in a look of strained concentration. After a beat Kepler says, “You know it’s supposed to be scopolamine, right? Not oxycontin.”

“One hundred fifty?” Jacobi asks, ignoring him.

She breathes a sigh almost of relief but answers quickly. “Yes - I only checked with my watch. I mean - it could be because of the guard or me but you guys seem like...professionals so I - I don’t know.” 

He ignores her, glaring down at Kepler. Any SI-5 operative should have been out of their cuffs ages ago, should have gotten out as soon as the guard had gone down. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth. “Hurry up.”

Kepler’s eyes widen just a tiny amount, almost like he’s just realized that he should have been getting out of the handcuffs. But immediately after there’s the loud metallic clang as the cuffs drop to the ground, which should alleviate the nausea that’s rising in Jacobi’s stomach, but doesn’t.

“What do they have on you?” Jacobi asks, turning back to Brahe. “What do they have - do they have dirt on you? A kid? Family?” She doesn’t reply, of course she doesn’t, she’s smart. But he watches her as she starts to look away, before she catches herself and looks him dead in the eye again. Jacobi presses on. “Family. Blood family? Spouse?”

“My - wife.” Brahe admits, crossing her arms nervously. “She...works downstairs.”

“Cute.” Kepler chokes out. Jacobi should tell him off for insisting on being obnoxious when he’s clearly not well, but it’d be pointless.  

“Okay, Brahe. I’ll cut you a deal. Fuck these people, right? I’ll give you -” Jacobi glances at his wrist, looking for his watch, but it’s been taken along with most of his things. “Shit. Alright I’ll give you a ten minute warning to get you and your wife out of the building if you can get me my stuff, and you make sure this idiot doesn’t kill himself while I work. How’s that?”

She doesn’t reply, a stricken look on her face and Jacobi can already tell what she’s thinking. Some people are just too predictable. He’d hoped since she seemed like she was made of sterner stuff, that she’d take the offer and run with it, but of course not. Ethics and morality and blah blah.

“Ten minute warning. Five minute mark I’ll pull the fire alarm. Does that make you feel better?” Jacobi asks, not bothering to keep the derision out of his voice. Brahe nods tersely. There’s probably a small logical part of her brain that knows people are wont to ignore a fire alarm without confirmation of an actual fire - five minutes won’t be enough time for most - but for her conscience’s sake she’s ignoring it.

“Don’t try anything.” Jacobi warns as he starts to move around the metal table to where Kepler was still seated. He ignores the dark pools of his own blood on the table in favor of dragging Kepler to his feet, arm around his waist. Fuck - his wrist - holding a gun and a lanky-as-shit man would be impossible. 

Kepler mumbles something about getting blood on his nice shirt. Then coughs. The sound this close to his ear makes Jacobi flinch; the gasp afterwards makes his stomach tie up into knots. With his arm around Kepler, he can feel the warmth coming off of him, feel how he struggles for breath. There’s a number of emotions he has about the whole scene, but he lets them slide out of his grasp before he can identify them, focusing instead on his own pain.

“Let me take him.” Brahe says quietly, suddenly very close. “Let me take him. You’re bleeding - you need to point the gun. Okay? Just let me carry him.”

He doesn’t reply, struggling to hold onto Kepler until she takes his non-answer as acquiescence and cautiously reaches for the man.

Something about the situation doesn’t let Jacobi simply give his superior officer to a woman he’s keeping as an impromptu hostage, but Jacobi knows he can’t carry him, so he lets her take him. She’s sturdier and uninjured and seems to have forgiven the whole hostage thing, graciously, and he shouldn’t be grateful exactly but he can be relieved.

But even as Kepler is pulled away from him, making snide remarks about not needing to be carried like a damsel, Jacobi turns on him in anger, placing his hand on the side of the man’s face and trying to get him to pay attention.

“What did you do?” Brahe has her eyes averted as he shouts, trying to afford them a level of privacy that she can’t. Kepler seems to consider how he should answer, much slower than usual with fatigue dragging him down, and as he does so Jacobi pushes a stray lock of hair out of his face. A momentary lapse in judgement.

“Mr. Jacobi,” he pauses, even though he’s just begun to speak, “we have our orders.”

“Go to hell. I’m working on it.” Jacobi turns away, confident that Brahe poses little threat to him, at least weighed down like she is, and loots the dead guard. The second gun, which he disassembles, pocketing the handgun’s slide and clip, and the slightly bent pair of mirrored sunglasses lying on the ground. Brahe he makes a small disgusted sound as he dons them but otherwise doesn’t comment. Good for her. He considers briefly taking the guards jacket, as somewhat of a disguise, but the obvious bloodstains are a deterrent, along with a growing sense of urgency. As an afterthought, he shoves the cuffs he’d been wearing into his jacket pocket as well.  “Alright. You’ve got a lab, right? Some kind of workspace. Something where you keep all your materials, chemicals.”

Brahe looks hesitant, clearly not sure what he’s after. “...Yes?”

“And a computer?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s go there.”

The three of them limp out of the room and into the hallway. It’s disturbingly pristine, everything painted white, even the doorknobs. He’d noticed it as they were being dragged through here, but it’d happened too quickly to be bothered by it. Now that they were trudging slowly along, he could absorb the complete lack of color. Even the security cameras, tucked away and almost hidden, were encased in a pale white plastic. It’s in stark contrast to the little interrogation room they’ve been in, with grey concrete and metal, spots of rust and dirt and perhaps blood.

Out of spite and exhausted unsteadiness, Jacobi leans against the wall just outside the door, leaving behind a splash of red. The rest of the walk he keeps his hands to himself, however. Even if the security feed or a thorough search were bound to give away where they’re sneaking off to, it’s better to make them work for it instead of leaving an obvious trail.

“You doing okay? I’m not a nurse or a medical doctor but -”

“I’m fine. And I have a  _ gun _ .” He waves his handgun a little unenthusiastically, and Brahe gives him a stern look. Jacobi gives one back. “Keep walking.”

They pass doors. A lot of doors. Some with windows, but the glass is so frosted that you can’t see anything through them. All of them are shut, locked, with no signs indicating their purpose or what might be inside. It’s so disorienting that when Brahe stops, entering a string of numbers into the keypad on a door that looks identical to nearly every other door, he sighs in relief.

Her office is a sanctuary of color; shelves of boxes and bottles of stuff with colored warning labels, blue coat hung over a chair, and a desk tucked into the corner with photos and notebooks. The lights are dimmed as well, the brightest thing in the room being the computer at her desk. Brahe helpfully sits Kepler down in the desk chair, since the rest of the room only has stools, and Jacobi goes for a bright red first aid kit that he spots hanging on the wall.

It’s not going to fix his wrist and it’s definitely going to irritate the burns on his arm, but he slaps gauze haphazardly on the cuts and then uses ace wrap to hold it all together and maybe keep his wrist a little immobile. He just needs to be able to keep moving and finish the job. Get the files, blow up the server room, get out. Getting the files - he needs the executable that Maxwell shoved onto a thumbdrive, and then he can probably do it from Brahe’s computer. He’s not sure about the server room, though. Whoever took his bag may have already disposed of his bomb by now, and it may not even be worth it when the purpose of the explosion was to cover their tracks.

“You should be in the hospital,” Brahe tells him as he rolls his sleeve down over the bandage. “You both should.”

“If you can’t say something helpful, don’t say anything at all.”

Brahe glares at him in reply, but is appropriately cowed into silence. In the dimly lit room, for a few seconds, the only thing Jacobi can hear is Kepler’s rough breathing. He can’t help but wonder if it might be smarter to pull the plug and back out of this mission now, but he knows that if he backs out Cutter may personally murder the both of them himself - especially if it turns out that Kepler is fine. He can picture it now, bleeding out in Cutter’s pristine office, and being nothing more than an unfortunate stain that needs removing. Better not. 

Twenty minutes max if his bomb is still among his things. Kepler’s not hemorrhaging, he’s not having a heart attack. Worst case scenario they grab the files and split without anything blowing up. Disappointing but not a complete disaster.

“I came in with a bag. I need it.” Jacobi tells Brahe as he rolls his stiff shoulders. “Do you know where they might have taken it? Even just a general area, a floor, something.”

“I - yes. Maybe. I know where the security office is - there, or nearby probably.”

“ _ Great _ .” They’d have to grab it out from underneath the nose of security guards. He can’t drag Kepler with them this time, as well, and that meant either leaving him defenseless or leaving him with the stolen gun. Both options were shitty. Jacobi goes over to Brahe’s desk and leans against it, trying to make a decision on Kepler’s behalf - a position he’s not frequently put in, but it’s certainly not unusual.

He hands over the stolen gun, sliding the safety off. Kepler raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t comment. “I’m going to get Maxwell’s drive. I’m taking her -” He jerks his thumb towards Brahe. “- and we’ll be back in less than fifteen minutes. There’s a keypad on the door, I’ll knock.”

Kepler clears his throat and combs his hair back before he finally takes the handgun. “The computer?”

“Yeah.” There’s an ‘if you can’ tacked onto the end of that, but Jacobi doesn’t say it aloud, because that’s not how they operate. SI-5 inhabits the dangerous literal of there is no try, only do. Kepler’s never afforded him an opt-out for anything difficult, at least not verbally, Jacobi won’t either.

“It has a password -”

Jacobi sighs loudly, turning towards Brahe who is now standing by the door biting largely ineffectually at her nails. “Brahe. Not helpful. Remember? We don’t need the password. Do you know how to get to the security office?”

She nods, her expression tinged with regret.

“ _ That’s _ helpful.” He straightens his clothes, feeling exposed without the oddly comforting weight of a gun, and considers warning Brahe that he doesn’t need a gun to kill her - but she seems smart enough to know that already, and can probably be relied on to not try and alert the guards to their presence or worse. “Let’s go.” 

“Wait. Your jacket.” Brahe points cautiously at him, and then shrugs off the neat lab coat she’s sporting. She offers it to him, clearly avoiding eye contact.

Jacobi glances down at himself, and realizes her meaning. If they were going to go somewhere potentially more crowded, the bloodstains along his sleeve and elsewhere were too much of a risk. He peels the jacket off carefully, dumps it by the first aid kit, and silently puts the coat on. “Also helpful. Alright, come on.”

Brahe mutters something that is no doubt dripping with disdain as the leave, but Jacobi doesn’t catch it so he ignores it.


	3. . / -. / -..

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a nagging feeling that he’s making a mistake, leaving Kepler behind. He doesn’t know what’s happening with that man. Something happened - he’s missing a piece of the puzzle. Maybe this is some kind of test, but if it is he feels like he’s failing it.

The security office is a floor up and near the stairwell. Brahe leads him, her shoes tapping against the white tile, and then white stairs, and more white tile. They pass no one, most of the building eerily quiet, and the two of them the only color in the vicinity. Jacobi gets a peek at the watch that his companion is wearing, and suddenly understands why. It’s half past eleven already, so most people should be at home. 

Makes sense. Wouldn’t want to interrogate captives during normal business hours.

They come to a stop next to a door that is, surprisingly, actually labelled. There’s a small sign slapped onto it that says “SECURITY” in thin black type. Brahe takes a deep breath, trying to relax, before she gestures for Jacobi to stay where he is. He shakes his head firmly. As much as he trusts her not to alert the guards, he’s not going to take that risk. There’s too much at stake, especially with Kepler...the way that he is.

There’s a nagging feeling that he’s making a mistake, leaving Kepler behind. He doesn’t know what’s happening with that man. Something happened - he’s missing a piece of the puzzle. Maybe this is some kind of test, but if it is he feels like he’s failing it.

The office is bigger than expected. There’s a long wall with large monitors, cycling between cameras on each floor, with a desk and computer below them. On the opposite wall, lockers and a table pushed into the corner. A pair of guards look up from the desk, clearly surprised. The older of the two barely looks at Jacobi, but the other apparently doesn’t understand that it’s impolite to stare.

“I was asked to get something from, uh, the stuff that was confiscated.” Brahe says, and she’s not as obviously nervous as she could be - and it seems to work in her favor at least. It seems like she doesn’t match up with these people and their lifestyle, and both parties are aware of that, so her nervousness plays into that. “From the guys who were trespassing?”

“Oh - uhh, yeah, it’s in one of the lockers, let me get a key. I think the last shift said it was in the bottom one here.”

As they stand up, Jacobi can see that the older guard has a stun gun, a flashlight, and a radio on their belt, but the bulge in their jacket hints at real gun. The younger of the two has all the same gear, excepting the gun - which has been left on the table across the room. Idiot. Jacobi could probably get there first, grab the gun shoot the armed guard, use Brahe as a shield from a stun gun if nece -

“What happened to your face?” Jacobi snaps his gaze back to the young guard still staring at him. Oh, right. He’d gotten punched at some point. Split lip and probably bruising.

“Got in a fight with a glass door.” Jacobi deadpans.  

It’s hard to discern whether or not they believe him, but they nod at least, and turn away.

“Uh, we’ve got a backpack with some kind of device, a knife, a watch, and a USB in it. A bag of tools. There’s some guns as well. What are you wanting?” The guard with Brahe rummages through the locker and Jacobi resists the urge to wince.

“Just the backpack.” Brahe gives a strained smile as she’s handed the backpack, but she carries it in her arms like it’s a baby that might explode if she holds it wrong. “Thanks, that’s all I needed. What time do you guys get off?”

The two give her a puzzled look and Jacobi bites his cheek to keep from laughing. Of course. She’s worried about guards. It’s cute really, but it’s a waste of time and liable to get them caught. Jacobi coughs quietly in lieu of telling her to shut up.

“Six, the usual. We’ll be here all night if you need us - don’t worry.”

“Oh, good. Good.” Brahe nods to herself. “Okay. Well, thanks. I gotta get back now but have a nice night.”

“Thanks.”

She leaves in a hurry, Jacobi on her heels, and as soon as the door shuts and the lock engages loudly behind them, she pushes the backpack towards him. She continues on down the hall while Jacobi slings the backpack over his shoulder, and then hurries to keep up. Dammit, why is he surrounded by such tall people all the time. He needs short friends. Or short coworkers. Hell even short enemies would be nice at this point.

“A  _ device _ ?” Brahe stage whispers angrily. “Please tell me that’s not a bomb.  _ Please  _ tell me I did not just hold a bomb.”

“Hate to disappoint you, Brahe, but it’s definitely a bomb.” White tile, white stairs, white tile again. The same below as above. “How else am I supposed to blow things up?”

“You could have warned me, at least.” She waves her hands indignantly. “I’m - I’m helping you. I’m sorry that - look, I’m helping you out the least you could do - at least warn me. Is that too much to ask for?”

“I said I’d give you ten minutes.” He shrugs as they approach her lab again, sliding the backpack off carefully and already trying to find the thumbdrive that Maxwell had given them. Aha. It’s tucked into the smallest pocket, placed carelessly. The guards must have gone through their things. He couldn’t really fault them for that, all he could do was hope they hadn’t taken a closer look at the contents yet - hadn’t had the time especially with the apparent shift change. Maxwell’s code had some security on it, and of course couldn’t possibly be traced back to Goddard Futuristics, just like everything else in their arsenal, but with a bit of perseverance it wasn’t impossible to delete it.

The keypad beeps and the door to the lab swings open.

Kepler is...out cold. Or so it seems. Slumped against the desk, and the gun left unattended in his lap; Jacobi’s heart feels like it stops for a whole minute as he tries to process the scene, and it only gets going again when he tells himself no, Kepler has probably not been shot. There would be more obvious bleeding, maybe a visible exit wound, and surely the gun would be on the floor or Kepler would. His boss is not dead. Hopefully.

On the bright side, however, the computer is on and it looks like someone’s already been digging through files. Jacobi hears Brahe give an aborted gasp beside him, but she doesn’t move. That’s fine. Fine. He’s in charge of the situation. He’s got this.

Jacobi drops the bag carefully down by the door, still holding the thumbdrive as he approaches Kepler.

The mission. Kepler.

The mission.

He shoves the thumbdrive into the computer tower, trying to keep his breathing even as he picks the mission as being higher priority than the life of his superior officer. He doesn’t like this, doesn’t like being forced to make this decision in this way, but he knows what he’s supposed to do. What he’s expected to do. And that’s what he’s going to do.

The computer beeps at him, and Jacobi does exactly as Maxwell had instructed, command prompts spilling out on the screen as it tries to chew through whatever firewalls. As long as the computer stays connected to the internet, then it should send an alert to Alana that they’ve done at least half of what they came here to do.

Now Kepler.

He instinctively checks the man’s pulse and breathing, even though he can hear that Kepler’s alive. The coarse, wet breaths are evident enough that he’s alive - although very unwell - but his training has been drilled into him in a certain order.

Shallow breathing, but slow, probably because he’s unconscious, thready pulse, eyes still responsive to light.

“Sir.” He speaks only to try and wake Kepler, but his voice sounds a little more panicked than he was hoping or expecting so he shuts up immediately. Part of him still wonders - or hopes; same difference - if Kepler isn’t trying to pull one over on him, so Jacobi drags him out of the chair and carefully but not too carefully drops him on the ground. He glances at Brahe standing nervously in the corner. “I’m guessing you don’t have ammonia gas or...something.”

She takes this as an invitation to approach, kneeling down next to them and shaking her head. “I - I mean I could maybe find a way to make some but I don’t know if it’ll help.”

“I don’t think it will.”

“You really need a medical pr -”

“Not an option right now. I’ll have to do.” Jacobi sighs, trying to rub away the headache that’s manifesting behind his eyes. Something happened, he’s missing something. It’s not the oxycontin it has to be something else. Did he eat or drink anything that could have been dosed or poisoned or something? Nothing stands out. Dammit, Kepler. Making him do this - making him do these stupid tests instead of finishing the job and being fine.

“What are you doing?” Brahe asks as he picks up Kepler’s arm.

He shushes her, and lets the arm fall. It smacks Kepler in the face, and he doesn’t feel even remotely bad about it. Fine. He’s unconscious. Or very good at faking, but in a situation like this it’s probably the former. “Hand drop test.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s okay.” That’s pretty much the limit of his medical knowledge in situations like this. Most of his training have been for the expected job injuries - gunshot wounds, puncture wounds, crush wounds, broken bones, burns, et cetera. Unfortunately Brahe is right in that the next step should be getting real medical help. The mission. Kepler. The mission.

Jacobi is saved from having to make the decision again when Kepler groans, rolling onto his side and coughing weakly. Thank fuck. Behind him somewhere the computer beeps again.

“Did - did you hit me?” Kepler slurs, touching his cheek gingerly.

“Yes, sir.” It’s not exactly the truth but that’s not a pressing issue. “Are you okay to walk?”

He doesn’t reply, but that and the fact that he hasn’t even sat up are maybe answer enough. Sensing that she may soon be getting in the way of having a rather serious discussion, Brahe stands and walks away.

“Sir, you have to tell me what - what happened. What’s happening. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.” He can’t make sure his boss doesn’t die on him, if he doesn’t know. But Kepler slides his gaze away and refuses to speak, and suddenly it clicks. Kepler knows what’s happening but won’t say why, and that must mean it has something to do with Cutter. He must have orchestrated this, and held something over Kepler’s head to keep him quiet.

Jacobi can feel his nails digging into the palm of his hand. He should have seen this coming. He should have figured it out sooner, so that he could have done something. It’s too late now. He has no countermeasure, no antidote, nothing. Maxwell - maybe she could have figured this out. If he’d figured it out sooner and consulted Maxwell, or if he’d insisted on bringing her along.

If Kepler -

If Kepler dies. What is he supposed to do? How does he go back to working for Goddard Futuristics and working for Cutter? It’s selfish to be thinking about himself now, when Kepler is like this, but he has to make some kind of decision. He’s trapped. Cutter could have him killed too.

“Daniel,” Kepler says, his voice almost a whisper. He starts to say something else but chokes on the words, and it feels like something has torn open in Jacobi’s chest.

He can’t do this without -

He should warn Maxwell somehow. No, no, she’ll be able to figure it out herself. Especially if Jacobi doesn’t finish the mission. No, he should finish. Finish what he’s started. Fuck you, Cutter, here are your files and your sabotage.

But he’s not going home. Not after this. He doesn’t have the strength to do that. 

“I’m - I’m sorry, sir.” Jacobi manages, pulling his superior officer closer. “I’m sorry, Kepler.  _ Warren _ .”

He’s not even sure he’s being heard, what with the unfocused look in Kepler’s eyes, and the way he seems to struggle for each breath. The absolute worst part of the whole affair is watching Kepler’s schooled expression slowly melt away into fear. Real, actual. Fear. It’s horrific. And fuck Cutter for putting it there.

There’s nothing he can do. Time slows to a crawl, as he hugs Kepler to his chest and waits. And waits. A minute, two, five. And then, Kepler’s panicked breathing finally slows to a stop.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jacobi sees Brahe sit down on a stool heavily, her hands over her mouth. But she doesn’t say anything and he’s very grateful. He needs just a few moments to gather himself, to screw his courage to the sticking place, as it were. He has to finish this stupid fucking mission and...he’s not going home after that. This is an okay end to his story, maybe. Probably. It’s gotta be if he wants to be able to finish.

Jacobi takes a deep and unsteady breath, and very gently sets - Kepler - his body - him down, on the ground.

He stands. Straightens his jacket. And he points at Brahe. “Ten minutes. Get your wife. Get out.”

“We - we could do CPR, I know how to do compressions -” She gestures vaguely.

“Bystander CPR has shown to have an extremely low rate of success, and I doubt it’ll solve the real problem.” Jacobi grabs the gun that Kepler - that was left on the desk, and then retrieves his watch from the backpack, glancing at it briefly. “Ten minutes starting now, Brahe.”

She stands, looks reluctant to leave, but hurries out the door anyways. Good. Good for her. The computer beeps again at him, letting him know that Maxwell’s code has done its job, and now it’s time for him to do his. He knows where the server room is, he’d memorized that much at least. It’s on the same floor as the security office, but he’s still wearing Brahe’s lab coat so it shouldn’t be a problem in the slightest.

After four minutes, he leaves. He does not hesitate, he does not linger in the doorway. He grabs the backpack and he hurries out the door. White tile, white stairs, white tile, for the third time. Middle of the hall, past the security office, on the right. Another white door, with no label. This is the right one, though, he knows it.

He doesn’t have any of the tools that he would have used to get around the keypad, but Jacobi has a gun and no exit strategy so he shoots the damn lock out and  _ hurries _ .

It’s cold in the room. And ominous. He hasn’t bothered to turn the overhead lights on so all he sees is blue and green blinking coming from shadowy structures in rows. Like a weird tech maze. The bomb goes in the center of the room, tucked away on top of one of these abyssal tech towers, at least a little bit out of the way, and the timer set to five minutes. Plenty of time for Brahe to get out. And it only takes him a few seconds to find the little red fire alarm near the door and pull it.

As he does, he peeks through the door that’s been left just slightly ajar, and sees the guards already in the hall, casting about.

Gun in his uninjured hand, Jacobi sets up near the back of the room, where he has cover behind the servers but can still get a clean shot at the door. It takes the two guards that he’d met earlier in the office half a minute to get to the server room. He has twelve rounds left in this clip and four and a half minutes still left on the timer.

When he shoots the older of the two, he feels a little bad about it - he can tell by the way his hand shakes and his aim dips at the last second, leaving the guard with a serious gunshot wound to the leg, only fatal if they don’t receive medical attention soon. Very generously, or so he thinks at least, he gives the younger guard several seconds while Jacobi gives himself a talking to. Don’t get soft now, blah blah, that kind of thing; so that when he looks and sees the remaining guard with their gun out and headed his way, he doesn’t feel half as bad.

Ten rounds left. He checks his watch. Four minutes and twelve seconds. He puts the injured guard out of their misery as well. Nine rounds left.

It’s an agonizing wait, but he stands stock still in the near-dark and only gets angrier. At Goddard Futuristics - Cutter specifically. For taking -

Taking away a good -

Jacobi is only as good of an SI-5 operative as he is now because of - of him.

No one’s coming. At least that’s what it seems like. Besides the blaring fire alarm and the hum of air conditioning and computers, it’s fairly quiet. There’s enough time, he thinks as he keeps an eye on his watch, to feel some amount of remorse for what this might do to Alana. But she’d understand, maybe. If it were her that had - or if she had been in his position and maybe Jacobi had - she might do the same.

Losing a boss - no, a peer - a friend? A something.

Godammit.

Just after the one minute mark, another lone guard appears, looking worried but not nearly as much as she should. Jacobi is so surprised by her appearance, resigned to living out these last four minutes in near-silence that he shoots her twice. Seven rounds left.

He changes his mind. This is a bad ending - a shitty, cowardly ending because he’s not going home and committing attempted murder on his boss’ boss, but he’d die before he ever even managed that - still, this is  _ his  _ ending. Going out doing what he’s good at. Breaking things. Because the alternative isn’t good enough.

Jacobi keeps his eyes glued on his watch for the last thirty seconds, slumped against the back wall of the server room in resignation. At eighteen seconds he idly realizes how late it is - and starts to wonder why on earth both Brahe and her wife would be working this late. He doesn’t get to ponder it for too long though, because the bomb goes off.

There’s a horrifically loud sound of rebar and concrete and glass and metal all collapsing and shattering at once and then something heavy drops on him.


End file.
